


Inimical

by Strideshitt



Category: LazyTown
Genre: boys that cant express feelings, general unpleasant injury stuff, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strideshitt/pseuds/Strideshitt
Summary: Glanni gets himself into a sticky situation, and Íþro is the one to save him as usual.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't sleep I write self indulgent fanfics at 7am when I could be working on homework or doing virtually anything else.

Glanni practically flopped through the broken window with a much grace as a sack of flour. He wheezed, body barely registering the fact he was on his hands and knees in a pile of shattered glass. The man struggled to his feet, wincing in pain and grasping his left side desperately. 

"Fuck." He hissed out, trudging slowly across unfamilar carpet. He was in one of the few upscale houses in mayhemtown, in one of the only neighborhoods not full of death traps pretending to be buildings. Glanni usually made an attempt to stay clear of this part of town, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This was the only area where cops so much as pretended to care about their job, not that they couldn't be paid off here as well. Unfortunately, Glanni didn't have money. That's how he'd ended up like this. The last few hours spun in his already clouded head, pieces of the puzzle falling in the wrong order and leaving the criminal more drained than before. A scam gone wrong, a few people a bit too clever than what Glanni had hoped or planned for. This was Mayhemtown afterall, and while no one wad particularly a genius here they weren't guillible. Glanni had just wanted a few dollars, just enough money to make it out of this rathole of a town. Escaping from jail once had been enough of a hassle, and escaping from custody again with bigger charges on his head had left him tired, broke, and up shitcreek without a paddle. An expression meant to be more of a metaphorc but given the nature of Mayhemtown and his entire predicament it had become a little too literal. 

Glanni struggled on his wobbly legs to find some furniture to relax on, just for a second. He just needed a minute to assess the damage, and to catch his breath. He almost chuckled at the realization the people who owned this house had a pristine white couch, not a stain or a scratch on it. 

"I'm sure you deserve this somehow." Glanni said as he flopped down on the soft material. Instantly he let out a relaxed sigh of relief. This couch was probably barely even of normal quality, but Glanni couldn't be bothered to think of that now. Not when it felt so heavenly on his tired aching body. Speaking of body...

"Fuck." Glanni found himself hissing once again as he took a good look at the hand he'd just pulled from his burning side. Blood. His entire hand was slick with blood, and a glance down to his body proved his side was covered with it as well. He'd known he wouldn't get away from being stabbed unscathed, but this still wasn't exactly a pleasant discovery. It seemed almost instantly his side lit up with pain almost twice the amount he'd felt before. Of course his adrenaline would be running out already, and the confirmatio on the severity of wound only seemed to speed that process up. 

Glanni's bloodied hands shook as he reached them up to te zipper of his now ruined catsuit. He unzipped it slowly, wincing every few seconds as he did so. Maybe playing doctor right here in some random persons house wasn't a genius move, but desperate times did call for desperate measures. He unzipped the suit to his hip, and then slipped his arms free of the leather with a hiss and a wince. He left the lower half on his body so he wouldn't be completely exposed in his strange surrondings.

Unfortunately, the wound didn't seem to look any better now that it was free of his clothes. Glanni scrwed his eyes shut with a small whimper. He didn't quite consider himself a squeamish scaredy cat, but it was probably the closest thing to a description there really was for him. Especially now, faced with his own gruesome mortality on the form of a nasty stab wound directly in his slender side. It was close to an inch long, but he had no way to tell how deep it really was. The skin around the gash was bloody and red, skin clearly angry from the treatment it had been subjected to. Glanni pressed his unsteady hands back over the cut, feeling weak and disgusted at how it had looked. His head felt foggy as well, though he wasn't sure if that was from seeing the injury or if that was from the blood loss. 

"Okay, Glanni, get it together..." The criminal mumbled to himself, eyes still clenched shut. "Think, you gotta think." It seemed the more he tried to organize his thoughts the more jumbled they became. Glanni clenched his teeth in a desperate attempt to collect himself, although it was clear he was fighting a futile fight. 

"Maybe if I'm not sitting upright..." The man said to no one, tried to reason with himself as to why his body was laying down almost without his permossion. "Just... don't... pass... out..."

It took less than a minute for him to do just that, fading into unconsciousness. 

Glanni came to with a ringing in his head and voices in the air. He groaned and tried to grab his head, only to realize his limbs weren't going to cooperate with him. 

"Hey, I think he's waking up-" Came a voice throught the clouds. 

"Oh good, about time. Hey asshole, you owe us a new couch!" 

"Jeffrey!" The first voice hissed.

"What? It's true, look at the mess he made! Hey buddy you better get up, we called the cops on your ass!" 

"Jeffrey, he's hurt!" 

"Then he should have went to a hospital! I didn't buy this nice couch to have some bum break in and die on it." The man, Jeffrey apparently, continued to complain at a volume much too high for Glanni's aching head. 

"You know how the crime rate is here..."

"So?" Glanni found himself grimacing as if this man's voice was nails on a chalkboard. "I didn't buy a house in the nicest neighborhood in this shitty town so I could deal with crime."

A sigh, presumably from the reasonable one. "You knew it'd still be dangerous here..."

"I moved here for your family, not for the thrill!" 

"Do we really need to be having this conversation right now? Theres a man dying on our sofa."

"Don't worry about me. Please, go on." Glanni croaked, his throat burning with each word. He didn't have to open his eyes to know the couple had both shifted their attention to him. 

"Hey buddy, don't start with me. I'll kick your ass." Jeffrey said. 

"It looks like someone already did that, hon." 

Glanni groaned, finally forcing himself upright despite the fact his movements felt as if they were through molasses. His mouth was dry and tasted vaguely as copper, and his entire side felt stiff and sore. Oh, right. He'd gotten stabbedc hadn't he? 

"Look at that, he's good enough to sass us and move he's good enough to pay for the sofa."

"Only after you pay me for your marriage counseling." Glanni said with an indignant huff before venturing to look at the mess that was his left side. There was flaking and dried blood around the gash, but at least that was better than bleeding out. Although, given how spectacularly shitty that man was acting Glanni couldn't say he didn't deserve it. At least his wife seemed worried, as she had quickly hurried to Glanni's side. 

"The police should be here soon."

"Yeah, and they're gonna make you pay for my couch." Jeffrey huffed. 

"I wouldn't be on your crappy couch if I had any money." Glanni sneered back at him, taking petty enjoyment out of the couples matching shocked faces. 

"That couch is worth more than your- why you- I'm gonna-" 

"That's enough." Came a new, fourth voice from the now wide open front door. 

"Oh, great, Íþróttaálfurinn." Glanni said with a frown and a roll of his eyes upon realizing who exactly had just entered the scene. 

"Great, you're here. Get this asshole out of my house." Jeffrey said, grinding his teeth. 

"Of course." 

"And make sure he pays for my couch!" 

"I will not." Glanni said simply, allowing Íþróttaálfurinn to help him off of the now messy and stained couch. 

"You will." The elf said, mouth in a straight line. 

Once off of the couch Glanni attempted to stand on his own... and immediately failed, legs too wobbly and body too heavy for him to remain upright. Luckily, Íþróttaálfurinn stopped him easily. There was a moment of consideration before the hero swooped Glanni off of his feet completely, holding the criminal in his arms with deceptive softness. 

"Sorry for the troubles." Íþróttaálfurinn said, quickly taking a leave from the small home. Glanni took a strange pleasure in realizing the man's voice wavered ever so slightly, the way his frown was a bit too stern. He was worried, and it was clear to anyone who'd been near him for more than a few minutes at a time. 

Once outside Íþróttaálfurinn all but sprinted to his near by balloon, gently setting Glanni in a sitting position on the wicker floor of the basket. His hands were shaking. 

"Glæpur- what did you do?" 

"Oh, nice, hello to you too Íþróttaálcow. I'm doing good, thanks for asking." Glanni responded easily, acting as if he didn't feel on the edge of unconsciousness once again. 

The elf glared at him. "Stop. This is serious. You could die!" 

Glanni's grin fell. "Why are you assuming this is my fault?" 

"What?" Íþróttaálfurinn's brow furrowed in confusion. 

"You asked what I did, maybe I'm the victim of circumstances, maybe I'm-" 

Íþróttaálfurinn frowned once again. "This isn't the time for your games, Glanni. You're bleeding everywhere." 

Now was the criminal's turn to be confused, eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at himself. "Oh, would you look at that. It's bleeding again." 

That was the last thing Glanni said before losing consciousness once again. 

This time Glanni was slightly pleased to find he felt better than he had before, and downright giddy that he wasn't awoken by annoying arguments and screaming this time. That beeping though, that was...

Beeping?

" Íþróttaálfurinn, you put me in the fucking hospital?!" Glanni sat up with a screech, only to have a hand immediately and gently pressed against his chest.   
"You'll pull the stitches-" 

"Stitches?" Glanni said with a glare at his savior, and mortal enemy. 

"Yes, Glæpur, stitches. You almost died. Why didn't you get help, you were stabbed."

Glanni just continued to glare like an angry cat, silent and judging. 

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, realizing getting through to this man with logic was useless. He sat back down on his uncomfortable black chair next to the criminal's bed. Glanni's glare stayed on him the whole time as uncomfortable silence began to fill up the small hospital room.

"...how long was I out?" Glanni finally asked, deep voice permeating the silence. 

Íþróttaálfurinn seemed to consider this question for a moment, then answered. "13 hours." 

"Wh-" Glanni sputtered, then stopped. His glare had softened into something closer to a curious look. "How long have you been here?" 

"The whole time." Íþróttaálfurinn said with no hesitation this time. 

"Of course." Glanni said, barely holding in a snort. He settled back down on the bed. "Always the hero, huh Íþróttaálfurinn?" 

The elf looked at him, expression puzzled. "What do you mean?" 

"Sitting next to me on my deathbed-"

"You were in stable condition." 

"-shut up- as if we weren't mortal enemies. Just had to make sure no one died on your watch." 

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed at Glanni's dramatic nature. "I stayed because I was worried." 

Glanni tossed him a curious, skeptical look. 

"You're more than just some random enemy, Glæpur. At least to me. If I really considered you such a bad man do you think I would have stopped you from bleeding out and dying in a ditch?" 

"Ohhh, Íþróttaálfurinn, what would the children think to hear you say that!" 

"Quit your cackling and listen." Íþróttaálfurinn said, surprised to see Glanni appeared to listen to him. He continued, although this time more hesitant and clearly uneasy. "...I care about you, Glæpur. I'm not just going to let you die. Not if I can help it." 

"What is this, a love confession?" The taller, lankier man said dryly. Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, standing up. He turned, and exited the room without saying anything else. Glanni almost wanted to reach out, to apologize and call the elf back in, but didn't. He stared at the empty chair the other man had left behind.

"Wait, Íþróttaálfurinn!" He called out, as loud as he could manage. "Who the fuck is gonna pay my bill?!"


End file.
